Night and Day
by SassyGeminiMom
Summary: Isabella seems so meek and innocent. But after 5pm Isabella turns into Bells; owner of Hells Bells Tattoo Parlor. What happens when Edward, drunk and out with friends on New Year's Eve, decides to ring in the New Year with some new ink?


**Night and Day**  
><strong>Recipient:<strong> lexiecullen17 & il_bel_mondo  
><strong>Rating:<strong> M  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Language

**Summary:**Isabella an assistant to a high society lawyer, Edward, seems so meek and innocent. But after her 9-5 Isabella works at a tattoo studio, inking people who only know her Bells. What happens when Edward, drunk and out with friends on New Year's Eve, decides to blow off some steam and runs in to the ink covered and pierced Bells? AH

* * *

><p>"Isabella, do you have those debriefings from the Volturi case?" Edward asked loudly through his partially closed office door to Isabella Swan, his legal assistant.<p>

"Yes, I have them right here. You asked me to make copies to send to opposing council prior to the full disclosure date." Isabella hastily entered Edward's office and handed him a thick manila folder with the notes of every interview conducted for the Volturi vs. Denali case going to trial just after the New Year.

She had been a godsend to him, hired only a year prior when his old assistant, Mrs. Cope, had decided to retire. Mrs. Cope had been sixty-seven when Edward finally convinced her to leave the work force and enjoy her senior years. She had been with the firm for almost twenty years, the last ten of them spent as his assistant. He vividly remembered the waves of panic that had him chugging Pepto Bismol daily when he thought of her leaving the firm.

He had let her do all the interviewing for her replacement, knowing that she would be more discerning than he. She was the right hand of his professional life, and often times of his personal one. She was the closest thing he'd had to a mother since his own had passed away when he was just an infant.

Edward had walked in the office the afternoon of Mrs. Cope's last day, Isabella's first one, completely unaware of the momentous occasion. How he'd forgotten was still a mystery, the only thing he could glean was that he had been operating in his own world of denial.

He'd seen the pretty brunette sitting opposite Mrs. Cope and figured that she had to be the wife of some guy who didn't want to be her husband any more. She was well-dressed, conservative even, with her high-collared silk blouse and tailored wool pants. Ignoring Mrs. Cope's attempt to curtail his beeline for his office, he curtly nodded to the pair, entered his private sanctuary, and closed the door tightly.

He'd been in court all morning, trying to convince a jury—of what was supposed to be his client's peers—that his client did not, in fact, embezzle money from his own company to pay for the services of a professional companion numerous times the previous year while his wife had lain in a coma from a tragic car accident. He was sure his client was guilty as hell, so much so that he made sure that he was paid in cash instead of rubber checks, but his job was not to judge, rather to argue the letter of the law against the crime charged. The case was now in the jury's hands and he was glad to be rid of his client for the time being.

When he emerged from his office just over an hour, three fingers of bourbon, and the greatest hits album of Pink Floyd later, the prim brunette was still sitting in the anteroom, this time behind the computer. He was shocked at the sight of her sitting there, even after Mrs. Cope had explained that she was to be his new assistant.

Just over twelve months later, he knew, without a doubt, that he couldn't live without her. She was so much different that Mrs. Cope, not just in age, but from the way she organized files to how she made coffee. She ran the one man office like a drill sergeant, keeping him, and all of his cases, neat and organized.

He didn't know much about her personal life, in spite of the fact that she knew almost every facet of his. She scheduled all of his appointments, ordered flowers for his aunt and sister on their birthdays, and made sure he called his dates to social functions back the next day to thank them for a lovely time. She could find every file and the minute details in them within minutes. She was his cheering section when things weren't going so well, and the first person he called when they were.

She was always a vision of professionalism, in both her attire and her actions. She was polite and courteous to everyone who entered the office, even those who did not deserve it. She was always taking care of him, too, making sure he had fresh coffee at all times and food in his stomach when he was too engrossed to bother.

He knew she lived alone, in a house that she bought with money saved from college and a small bank loan. He knew she preferred muted colors in her wardrobe, ranging from creams, to browns, to pinks. He knew she liked to listen to classical music because he would often see her drum her fingers along her desk or hear her hum along when he had music on his office.

Was she married? She didn't wear a ring, so he figured she was not. Did she have a boyfriend? She didn't receive many, if any, personal calls on a daily basis. Secretly he hoped she was single. What did she do for fun? Did she like to bowl or read books? All of these things and more were a mystery to Edward. A mystery he was determined to solve.

He breathed in deeply as she whisked in, waiting for the subtle floral scent that enveloped her. She smiled genuinely at him as she handed him the file. He purposely brushed his fingers against hers so that he could see the quick flash of scarlet appear on her cheeks. He loved that such a small, innocent touch could set her ablaze as such. Thoughts of how her skin would look under his hands, his teeth . . . under his body, assaulted him.

"Thank you, Isabella, you're a life saver," he praised, earning another small blush as she diverted her eyes away from him. He had often wondered if she was innocent; untouched. Those thoughts would invoke images of them entwined together within the crisp, white sheets of his bed, dozens of candles casting erotic shadows against the walls as he showed her the gentle and sensual ways a man loved a woman such as her. The thoughts would fade when surely, he thought, that some man had already revealed those mysteries to her. He wanted to cut the bastard, whoever he was.

"You're welcome, Mr. Cullen," she stated simply.

"Please, after a year, please call me Edward," he pleaded.

A small, almost invisible smirk appeared on her face. "Edward," she repeated.

Wait. Did she just goad him on purpose? Perhaps there were more layers to Miss Swan than he had thought.

She turned to leave his office and as he felt his gaze automatically settle over her shapely behind, she gave it a sensual little wiggle before shutting the door behind her. Did she just flirt back with him? Yes, there were definitely more layers to Miss Swan that needed to be explored.

It was nearly three, when Edward emerged from his office again. He hated making her work on New Year's Eve, but the Volturi case was top priority, and very high profile for him, and he needed everything to be perfect. However, since it was New Year's Eve, and since his fraternity brothers from college we arriving tonight, he knew they both would be cutting out early.

She was sitting at her desk, doing whatever it was she did all day to keep everything running smoothly. He stared at her back for a brief moment as his mind replayed the scene from his office earlier. He had been sure the wiggle was deliberate; he had debated the fact in his mind the whole afternoon. It was such a small but bold overture for her he didn't know what to make of it.

Instead of working on his opening statement and finalizing some notes, he'd spent the afternoon fantasizing about her meekly walking into his office with some coffee or a message, and then taking her like a wild animal on his desktop. He'd been frustrated with himself, his thoughts and the raging hard-on that had yet to subside.

The phone rang, drawing her attention. Her voice was crisp and direct, yet soft as she spoke to car service he often employed. She was finalizing the details for the limousine that he'd rented to chauffeur him and his friends around town. Only the slightest change in her aura and the quick tapping of her pen on the desk tipped him off that there'd been some sort of snag.

"No, Mr. Cullen did not order a white Town Car. The order, which I personally verified with your supervisor, was for a black, stretch Excursion." A moment of silence followed. "No, another vehicle will not be acceptable. Yes, I do know that it is New Year's Eve, but that is not my problem, it's yours." More silence. "Thank you, I appreciate your vigilance. He will expect the vehicle at the address provided, please verify." There were a few more interruptions, some muttered acknowledgements, and the conversation was over. Somehow, without raising her voice, and while still praising the representative from the service, she had not only corrected their mistake, but had finagled an Excursion out of them, when really he had wanted a regular limo. She was absolutely amazing, he thought to himself.

He pushed himself off the door jamb and approached her desk and raised his eyebrows. "Impressive . . . an upgrade, even."

The blush was back, but he wasn't sure it lingered from the excitement of the call or if it was from his words of praise. "It serves them right for screwing it up in the first place, especially since you reserved the car well in advance. I hope that it's okay."

"It's more than okay, thank you. I'm sure that my friends and I will enjoy it immensely." She smiled again; it lit up her entire face as if he was just seeing her for the first time. "Do you have plans for this evening, Isabella?"

She looked away again, this time to straighten some papers that were already stacked neatly on her desk. "No. I'm not one for big plans on New Years. Jake and I will curl up together on the couch, watch a sappy chick flick, eat some popcorn, and share a small bottle of champagne at midnight. Then we'll turn into pumpkins and go to bed."

So there was a boyfriend. Asshole.

"That sounds like fun in its own right. Jake is a lucky man to ring in the new year with you." Genius, or stupidity, then struck. "You and your boyfriend are welcomed to join us for a night on the town, if you'd like. There will be plenty of room now that my amazing magician of an assistant happened to reserve an Excursion for tonight."

She giggled; actually giggled. He wanted to hear her do it again, every day.

"Jake and I do appreciate the offer, Edward, but I'm not sure he's the kind of company you and your friends would like to hang around with."

Was she implying that he was pretentious? Annoyed, he tersely responded, "Are you suggesting that my friends and I are conceited and judgmental?"

This time she laughed fully and if he wasn't so worked up he would have reveled in the sound.

"No, Edward, no. Jake is my cat. My very fat, very lazy, orange tabby cat."

He blinked once, then twice. There was no boyfriend. Wait, what? She was clearly stifling her continual laughter as Edward worked out what she had just said. Then he smiled and laughed with her. "Ah, I see. I'm sorry to have implied anything."

"It's no problem. In fact, if Jake had been my boyfriend, we would have been delighted to spend the evening with you and your friends."

Say it. _Just say it._"So, why don't you?"

She looked at him in confusion. "Why don't I what?"

Why didn't he think of it sooner? "Why don't you join us anyways? I can't guarantee that my frat brothers are litter box trained, but they are a fun bunch of guys."

Her eyes jumped, just a bit, and then she recovered. "Thank you, but I'm fine. It's kind of a ritual for me anyways. And besides, you haven't been with all of your friends together all year. Enjoy yourselves."

His intense gaze begged her to reconsider, but she remained silent. Resolved, he sighed, took the paperwork for both the car and the hotel rooms, and bid her an early New Year.

She packed up her things, gathered her coat and headed out, turning back to him before leaving. "Happy New Year to you, too, Edward." Then she was gone.

She entered her modest house a short while later just as confused as she was when she left the office. She'd worked for Edward Cullen as his legal assistant for over a year now. She was good at her job; loved it, as well. She had graduated college, her major in pre-law, at the top of her class, but never followed through to law school, much to her parents' disappointment. She had wanted to take a year off to be herself before she entered the rigors of a law career. It was during that year that both her parents had died in a tragic car accident. After all the legalities were taken care of, she just couldn't bring herself to tie her life to one profession; one that would require everything she had. Life was too short and she wanted to enjoy it while she could.

She opened the door that she had thoroughly enjoyed painting red, to the subtle smells of lavender and vanilla incense. Decorated in eclectic tastes, nothing matched, and yet it all seemed to belong together. Bold colors were splattered amongst the conservative; antiques nestled next to modern pieces. Her taste in decorating seemed to mirror the dissenting facets of her life; both of which suited her.

_Meow._She looked to the olive green traditional couch and the orange tabby peering angrily from atop her grandmother's hand-woven quilt.

"You know, despite your continuous protests, you are not, in fact, starving, Jake. There's plenty of dry food in your bowl if you would just get off your fat ass and eat it, fur ball."

_Meow. Meow._She sat down on the couch and began to scratch behind his ears. "Edward asked us out tonight."

_Meow._ "He thought you were my boyfriend and seemed pleased that you weren't." The tabby butted its head against her side while she continued to scratch idly. "What I wouldn't give to take a bite out of his fine ass. I wonder how fast he'd have run when he found out about my 'other' job." The cat climbed into her lap and began kneading its paws on her thighs. "Yes, Jake, you are still my number one guy. Let's get you fed, because Mommy has got to get ready for work." _Meow._

She entered the studio fifteen minutes early so that she could chat and get her station set up. New Year's Eve was actually one of their busiest nights of the year; when people got drunk they wanted a souvenir.

She got her first tattoo, a stylized, gothic C and R to remember her parents, shortly after they had passed. She'd never considered a tattoo before, but she was feeling especially melancholy and missing them terribly when she found herself staring into space in front of a local parlor. She had walked in, eyes wide at the graphic displays of body art, wondering what she was doing there. One of the artists had approached her slowly as if trying not to scare her. They talked at some length about what she wanted and why and then came up with a rough design together. Never lacking in artistic skills, she enjoyed the creative process and was excited to make her creation permanent. The artist had told her to go home and think it over and if she still wanted it, to come back in a week. In the meantime, he would refine and redraw the design so that it would be ready for transfer if she was so inclined. He explained that while her reasoning was noble, tattoos were indeed permanent and the decision to mark one's body should not be taken lightly. She had spent the week pondering his thoughts; awed that he'd given her the chance to change her mind instead of making the quick sale. A week later she was reclined in his chair while he immortalized her parents' initials on the outside of her left ankle.

Fascinated with the process as a whole, it had only taken that one small mark on her body to reel her in completely. Working around her day job as a paralegal, she'd spent her nights learning the art of body modification and tattoo art. She'd been a quick learner and enjoyed working with her clients. Though her first would always be the most special to her, she took great pride in every mark on her own body, as well. Careful not to mark an area that could not be hidden, she soon found herself just as covered as the artists were the first day she walked in.

Two years later, she had moved and opened her own shop. One year later she'd answered an ad for a legal assistant that would give her the health benefits she needed and a reliable income as each penny of profit was reinvested back into the business. It was how she'd met Edward.

She smiled at her employees that were already there. She was sad that she couldn't give them all the night off to celebrate, but she'd never be able to handle the traffic on her own. _Hells Bells _was quickly earning a reputation for its quality work; gaining along with it a steady customer base.

"Hey, Bells. Happy New Year," chimed her only other female artist. She smiled at the blonde who was currently working on an epic, gothic graveyard across someone's back.

"Hey, Rose. Happy New Year to you, too," she replied, heading over to the register counter. "Is Ali coming to pick you up?"

Without looking up, she answered, "Yeah, she should be here soon, actually. Thanks for giving me the night off. This, being our first New Years together, I really wanted to do something special . . . you know, to let her know I always want to ring it in with her." Rose, who could crush a man's balls with a single look and who was hopelessly in love with another woman, blushed. Bella, which was the connotation of Isabella her family used, wondered if she would ever look wistfully while speaking of someone else.

It was only seven thirty when the first set of rowdy and inebriated customers walked in. This group happened to be all female, celebrating a New Year's bachelorette party. Dutifully, she had tried to talk the women out of getting their tattoos, offering in exchange a coupon for a future visit, but they had insisted. Bella took the bride-to-be, who naturally wanted her betrothed's name permanently attached to her left buttocks. It was going to be a long night.

Business though, had remained light, which allowed Bella to send another employee on his way and catch up on some work. She had a few designs for customers that she needed to finalize, bills to pay, and supplies to inventory.

When midnight came, she shared a bottle of sparkling white grape juice, noise makers, and a few small snacks with the three remaining inkers in the studio. She thought idly of what Edward would be doing—how he'd spent the first minutes of 2009—when the bell above the door jingled. Three extremely drunk and rough-looking men entered, looking to add to their already extensive body art.

She recognized one of them as a regular and shot a quick look to one of her artists, all male, to see if they could handle the new comers. When he nodded in agreement, she headed to the back storeroom to see which inks she needed to add to her order list next week.

When the knock on the doorjamb came, she was surprised to see that an hour had passed. She would only stay open until two; she never stayed open past bar close. That was clientele she didn't want to deal with.

"Bells, we've got four guys, drunk as usual, singing your praises and insisting on getting tattoos. Nothing big . . . just something to indicate that they are all in love with each other or some stupid shit," Marcus told her.

Bella giggled. "God, I love all that male bonding fucking bullshit . . . no offense. I'm done in here anyways, so why don't I take one of the pansy-asses and we'll get out of here early."

He laughed. "Thanks, Bells."

Entering the main shop area, she took in the scene before her. Lounging casually on one of the dentist-like chairs was a blonde man with piercing grey eyes. He'd been in the shop several times before, a voracious flirt with an affinity for military markings. He smiled lazily at her, recognizing her at once.

"Dude! I'm so fucking getting Superman on my bicep of steel," announced a very large, dark-haired man perusing the wall of art while flexing his arm. Next to him were two other men, one also dark-haired, one wearing a baseball cap.

"I told you this place was the best. Bells, here, really knows how to take care of a man," Jasper, the blonde, drawled.

Bella prowled closer to him, sashaying her hips, and sat on the end of the chair. "You know it, Jazzy. So, what's it this time? Matching hearts for you and your band of boy lovers over there?"

Jasper clenched his hands to his chest as if he'd been stabbed in the heart. "Bells . . . you know you're the only one for me." He reached out his arms and she slid into them, laughing. "Those dumb fucks are my frat bothers. The big guy over there thought it would be cool if we all got matching tattoos to commemorate the good old days." His voice dropped an octave lower as he whispered, "Personally, I think Emmett's got some homoerotic tendencies, so if you would please guard my manhood over here, I would appreciate it."

"Your manhood is safe with me," she laughed.

Jasper motioned back to his friends. "Bells, my buddy Edward over there is a tattoo virgin. Think you take care of him properly?"

At the sound of the name Edward, Bella's back went ramrod straight. _It's just a coincidence, Bella,_she told herself. She told herself that the frat thing was also coincidence. She slowly turned to the other three, silently chanting, 'please don't be him' over and over in her head. The man in the baseball cap turned and looked at her, head to toe, before meeting her eyes.

Heat flooded her body as she stared into the piercing, compassionate, determined, and utterly sexy green eyes of Edward, her boss.

When the limo had picked up the last of his friends, he knew the night would be one for the record books. It had been awhile since he, Jasper, Emmett and Carlisle had all been in one place together. They'd rushed the same fraternity as freshman in college, became pledge brothers and stayed 'brothers' to this day. He could always count on one of them to defuse the day's tension or to bounce something off of. As far as buddies could go, they were the best and the most loyal. Too bad they were all married; all except him. He'd been feeling the fifth wheel for some time. But when it was just them, like it was tonight, and several beers and bottles of whiskey, he could forget about that missing piece of his life; the piece he periodically wondered if Isabella would fit.

Emmett had been whining all night that they needed to get tattoos. Seriously, where his justification for some things came from was a constant source of curiosity for him. Both Emmett and Jasper already had several and even Carlisle admitted to having two. This was all news to him – and they were supposed to be tight.

It wasn't like he was opposed to body art; whatever a person wanted to do to his or her own body was their choice – in fact, he'd even defended it once or twice.

It just wasn't for him. Not to mention you'd really have to find a reputable place, and even then could you really be sure that the place cleaned all their tools in an autoclave, used sanitary protection such as wearing latex gloves and had artists that actually had artistic ability? He couldn't imagine much worse than having a picture of a pirate ship permanently etched on his skin only have no one recognize what it was. Lastly, he didn't really find people covered in what they proclaimed to be 'art' very attractive; and in his line of work, conservatism and professionalism were key—people did not seek out lawyers covered in ink.

When Jasper insisted that he'd found the best tattoo parlor in the area, Carlisle jumped on board, and then it was three against one for getting tattoos. Several shots of whiskey later, he relented, as long as it was small and discrete. They'd decided beforehand to all get superhero symbols that matched their pledge names: Emmett was Superman, Jasper was Spiderman, Carlisle was Batman, and Edward was Wolverine.

He hadn't been paying much attention to the conversation Jasper was having with the female employee. He had seen her enter the studio from the back, but had barely spared her a glance. His mind was occupied somewhere else. It wasn't until he actually heard his name that his mind started to register the familiarity of the melodious laughter. He'd turned around slowly to address the woman who just professed being able to "take care of him," thinking the whole time 'it can't be her' over and over.

Heat flooded his body as he stared into the cautious, compassionate, humble, and utterly sexy brown eyes of Isabella, his assistant.

Time stopped for a moment that seemed to last forever. Edward noticed her hair next. Once worn loose around her shoulders, a deep chocolate brown, it was now accentuated with electric blue extensions and styled back from her face, similar to a Mohawk, showing the shaved portions just above her ears. He stopped counting her ear piercings at seven. _That was probably why she always wore her hair down._

Her once unmarked eyes were now heavily lined in black, surrounded by blue and purple shadow. It made the whites of her eyes striking; the usual soul-searching gaze was now soul-penetrating. At that moment they reflected fear. Revealed beneath them was a pierced nose and chin which sandwiched brightly painted red lips.

Dressed mostly in black, when he was sure she owned nothing of that color, her sleeveless tank gave way to a pair of heavily tattooed arms from shoulder to wrist. _That explained the long sleeves._

His eyes lingered once at the plunging neckline which revealed two, equally inked breasts, then again at the very short hem of the black tank from which peeked a bright pink navel ring, and lastly at the tops of her thighs, which was only as far as her miniscule, blue leather shorts went.

Encased in ripped, fishnet tights, her long, shapely legs revealed more markings and finally a pair of . . . combat boots?

"Edward?" It was she who spoke first, tentatively. "Edward, I can explain."

Barely above a whisper, he answered, "Isabella?"

Neither noticed the six pairs of eyes uncomfortably searching for somewhere else to look, but finding themselves glued to the spectacle before them.

Aro, one of her inkers, spoke next. "Bells . . . babe? You okay?"

Edward watched as fat, unadulterated tears fell down her face. "Edward, I…"

"Bells or Isabella?" he questioned. "Which one is it?"

He noticed that something in her snapped and she immediately brought up her guard. "Isabella is my name. Here, I am known simply as Bells which is a nickname and part of the name of _my _shop. Truthfully, I prefer to be called Bella, though no one but my family and close friends call me that."

"_Your_ shop?" he sputtered. _She owned this place?_

"Yes, _my_shop. Not that I need to justify myself to you, but I moved here two years ago after my parents were killed, looking for a new start. I had already nixed law school, though my passion for the craft never waivered. While I was grieving, I found and fell in love with the art of body modification and worked my ass of to become one of the best damn tattoo artists around. When I moved here, I opened my own shop, then found a day job to pay the bills and offer health insurance."

She thought he was judging her . . . he wasn't; he just needed to catch up and reconcile the demure woman he'd know for the past year with the firecracker standing before him.

Silence ensued. Isabella's tears had stopped, replaced by a silent rage.

She turned to Jasper. "Jazz, it's getting late. If you and your frat brothers want tattoos, I suggest we get started on them now. I'm not staying open late for all of you; we close at two sharp." She stomped over to what must have been her station. She began messing with various tools and instruments, then put on a mask and, lastly, latex gloves. The snap of the latex against her skin made every man clench, just a bit. "Edward." She patted the chair. "Or, would you rather someone else …" She looked at the order and chuckled, ". . . etch Wolverine's blades into your shoulder? We are all qualified, as well as certified, though that award and article over there," She pointed to the wall behind the register, "denotes that _I_am the best fucking tattoo artist in this city as of three months ago."

He could tell she was breathing heavily, shaking a bit, even, but the look in her eyes; the look of sheer pride and absolute defiance was what caught him.

In that moment she was Isabella: quiet and private, ever resourceful, and always dependable. She was also Bells: feisty and in your face, skilled and smart, and very much the businesswoman. He was sure she was also Bella; though he knew nothing of her, it dawned on him that he really wanted to meet her, too.

Jasper, Carlisle, and Emmett all sank into chairs that were not Isabella's. _Cowards._Edward shuffled over to her chair which was now extended straight like a table. "Isabella, I -"

"Please take off your shirt, Mr. Cullen." _Was she smirking at him?_

When he hesitated, she added, "I assure you, I've seen many naked torsos before. Please, take off your shirt or choose a different place to get marked."

He removed his shirt and watched her eyes grow wide as she took in his torso. Smiling, she instructed him to lie on his stomach while she pulled the picture to work off of from the internet. Their small talk was kept to a minimum. She asked if he was okay at all the right moments, but that was about it. He wouldn't have noticed anyways, as his mind shut down the minute he felt the heat of her skin on his, even through the latex gloves.

She was confident and thorough and he was impressed; thoroughly impressed. He was also impressed and amazed at the glimpses of the images on her skin. Her arms appeared to share a Japanese orchid motif which resonated up her arm; or as much as he could see. Periodically, he could see her legs and noticed the visage of an angel as well as other celestial markings. Fascinated, he couldn't stop staring; they did not cover the beauty he already knew was there . . . they enhanced it, evolved it in the woman standing next to him. He couldn't stop the vivid fantasies from appearing in his mind.

True to her word, all four of them were finished just before two. He shouldn't have been amazed at the sheer beauty of their tattoos, but he was. They may have been small, cartoon-like symbols, but each was proportionate, accurate, colored and shaded as if they had been works of graphic art. The bill was paid and the four of them awkwardly left _Hells Bells _in the crisp, night air.

She let out her breath when the bell rang and the four of them left. Marcus locked the door behind them and turned off the neon 'open' sign. They each cleaned up their stations in silence; most likely not wanting to ruffle her feathers any further. When it was time to leave, it was Caius who spoke, "Bells, do you need a ride home?"

Bella looked at Aro, Marcus, and Caius and her heart warmed at the concern in their eyes. She was filled with happiness from their friendship; from all her employees at the shop and how they looked out for each other . . . never judging, always compassionate and understanding.

"No, I'll be fine. I might not have a job on Monday and if that's the case, well, then, fuck him." She tried to sound as convincing as possible.

"Well, you'll still have us," Aro said, smiling.

The men left a few short minutes before Bella did. She double checked the locks, put the money in the safe, and set the alarm before heading to her car in the lighted lot. As she locked the back door, she felt the earlier tears threaten, then fall once again. She never once felt ashamed of her body art and piercings; never once was embarrassed to show them. But she needed the hoity-toity day job to help pay the bills and provide her with health insurance because she took nothing from the store. On her books, she was an employee who declined coverage and made five dollars a year. Every cent she could spare went to her employee's paychecks, insurance, and then back to the store for supplies and marketing. She knew just how rough the first years of a new business could be, so she did everything in her power to be successful.

Arguing the law had been her first and most loved passion. After her parents died, she knew she couldn't go back to it, nor could she fully leave it. So she made a compromise to herself to lead two separate lives; never lying outright about them, just keeping them so separated that the lines would never cross.

Tonight, when she'd seen Edward, she panicked. While she was afraid he'd fire her, she knew there'd be another job somewhere else. No, she was most worried about the judgment she'd seen in his eyes, because for once, she had found someone to care about.

When she heard the degradation in his voice, something inside of her snapped. _How dare he write her off as some second-class freak when he made his money off people like her! _She hated the look in his eyes and had resolved then and there that he would not treat her beneath him. So, she gave him his tattoo; felt powerful that it was her mark on him. She gave him nothing more, though, because he'd already had, prior to this night, the one thing she held close – her heart.

She kicked the brick façade next to the door in a fit of rage. "Fuck you, Edward Cullen!" she screamed, wiping the tears on her shirt. When she turned he was staring straight at her.

"God dammit! Do you always sneak up on women in dark parking lots in the wee hours of the morning?" she screamed.

He said nothing, just stood there staring at her, his thumbs hooked into the pockets of his jeans, his back against the wall.

Bella screamed obscenities and accusations at him in her head, but couldn't form the words with her lips. Instead, all she could feel was the heat building inside her body as he stared at her, half obscured by the street lamps. _Damn him! Damn them both!_

Taking two long strides, she pressed him into the wall with her body, making sure every inch possible was touching. She grabbed the baseball cap from his head and entwined her fingers though his bronze locks before pulling his face to hers for a heated kiss.

She wasn't sure who moaned first, just that something feral sounding had escaped one of their throats. His hands went to her ass, grabbing each side hard, while he rubbed the steel shaft in his pants against her belly. She grazed the piercing in her tongue over his tongue and against his teeth. She couldn't get enough of him; he tasted sweet and forbidden at the same time. He thrust one of his thighs between hers and she ground herself against it mercilessly. Too few minutes passed before she pulled her face away from his. She started the kiss and she would end it with her head held high.

Leaving him panting, she whispered against his lips, "Happy New Year, Edward," before stepping back, walking to her car, and driving away.

Monday morning arrived with little fanfare. It had been a quiet weekend between her and Jake; she'd expected nothing else. With the ominous alarm going off Monday morning came her 'Isabella routine'. So, as with every weekday, she went about styling her hair, cleaning her face, and picking out clothes appropriate for the office.

With each layer of conservative wear, she locked away her other life; one that was just as much a part of her as the other. Her heart had betrayed her over the weekend, secretly hoping that Edward could accept her double life, accept her.  
>She took one last look at her appearance in the mirror next to the door. She didn't know what to expect, but she'd be damned if she wasn't going to go in with her head held high.<p>

He'd been on edge all weekend. The virginal and lifesaving assistant that he had been berating himself for having lewd thoughts about turned into a sexy, goth goddess at night. It was she that had him tossing, tormented, and sick of cold showers by Monday morning.

He should have gone after her, but he'd been so stunned that he couldn't move. He could have called, but really, what would he have said? Instead, he chose to come into the office early; he wanted to be there before her, needed the extra time to settle his nerves and prayed that he'd figure out what to do before she arrived.

He didn't.

He heard the office door open and shut and the usual soft humming as Isa—Bella walked through the door. His ears strained as they listened to the soft metal on metal noises as she hung her jacket on a hanger by the door. His ears focused on her breathing, soft and steady, as she went through the motions of making a pot of coffee.

His mind leapt to the image of her standing there, half bent over the counter, fishnet thigh highs peeking out from under her illegally short skirt as he approached, rough hands on her hips, his erection pressed tight against her ass. Shocked at his sudden lack of control, he knocked over the mug holding his pens, sending it to the floor where it shattered into a million porcelain pieces.

So much for stealth.

He heard Bella call out his name seconds before she appeared in his office doorway. He was on his hands and knees, embarrassed and resigned to the fact that he was in fact an idiot. He expected her to be angry, to be ready to launch into a series of 'Bells-like' expletives about what an asshole he was.

Instead, she laughed . . . deep, loud, and heartfelt.

She made no move to help him, just stood still; letting the doorjamb hold her up while he cleaned up the mess.

He felt those stunning brown eyes bore into him as he swept up the pieces. Every so often he would hear her slight chuckle. He wanted to ask what was so funny, but he wouldn't be doing it while on his knees. He wouldn't beg for her, he wasn't the one leading two separate lives.

But he would kiss her again, he resolved, as he rose and slowly tread straight for her.

She eyes him cautiously. On the outside she was all Isabella: tailored charcoal pants, light rose colored blouse, hair softly arranged around her shoulders. Her gaze was all Bells: suspicious, amused and aroused . . . yes, she still wanted him.

Without hesitation, he pinned her against the jamb and assaulted her lips. All the fire, all the passion from New Year's was still present, but now he was prepared for it. She nipped at his chin and he found himself wishing she'd left the tongue ring in. She was so many flavors of forbidden and he wanted to try every one of them.

When she was breathless and panting, he backed away from her, marveling at the 'neat at a pin' Isabella, flushed and disheveled.

His back resting against the opposite jamb, their silhouettes framed by the open doorway, he thanked God again for the day she walked into his office.

"I'll never kiss you again, Isabella . . .," he stated, waiting for her reaction. He wasn't disappointed by the flash of rage that turned her pink cheeks to crimson. ". . . in the office. It's completely inappropriate." Bella started to speak; her lips were warming up for the tirade that was about to explode off of them. He put a finger to them to silence her and she heaved in response. "However, I would like to, very much, ask if you, Bella, would join me for dinner sometime."

She kissed his fingertip lightly and smiled. "I would like that very much."


End file.
